


Reciprocity

by m0usielous1e



Category: The Walking Dead (TV)
Genre: First Kiss, Internalized Homophobia, M/M, Past Abuse, Past Child Abuse
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-27
Updated: 2016-12-27
Packaged: 2018-09-12 17:56:18
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,506
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9083185
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/m0usielous1e/pseuds/m0usielous1e
Summary: "Despite what most people thought, he was sure, Daryl Dixon could recognise when someone was attracted to him. Especially when the other person made it so obvious."





	

**Author's Note:**

> I'm working out head-canons through fic.

Despite what most people thought, he was sure, Daryl Dixon could recognise when someone was attracted to him. Especially when the other person made it so obvious.

Paul “Jesus” Rovia, thief, spy and occasional asshole, tended to stares that lingered. Daryl could not remember ever drawing someone’s gaze like this, not even when he was out with his brother before the world went to shit for everyone. There was also the personal space thing, particularly since the other man had helped Daryl escape the Sanctuary. Whenever they were out together, Jesus would gradually drift closer until Daryl was practically tripping all over him whenever he moved. But the worst was the fact that Daryl could not bring himself to truly hate it, and he knew that he should have.

Being gay was alright for people like Tara and Denise and Aaron and Eric and Jesus. They had probably grown up in or moved to homes and communities where no one cared and nothing would happen if you saw two men or women walking hand in hand down the street. Daryl had never had a problem with gay people, but Merle did. Half of all the verbal abuse their father and later, Merle had thrown at Daryl had been homophobic bullshit meant to tear him down and turn him into little copies of them. Daryl had never succumbed, not fully, but it had affected him some and that was a problem now.

Daryl wasn’t gay, or at least he never actively pursued relationships with men. He was sure he had also liked girls from time to time. Michonne could be a flirt and cool to hang out with, Beth had been growing on him and Carol would forever have his heart. But he had not really felt anything for them that could be considered romantic either. He hadn’t fantasised of steamy nights in their moonshine shack with Michonne, or in the funeral home with Beth, or how differently that night in the women’s shelter could have been with Carol. And yet when it came to Jesus…there was no earthly reason for a man to be pretty. 

Jesus’ big round eyes, which he used to considerable effect when necessary, were a shade of turquoise Daryl did not think fair on a boy. Then there was his dark gold hair, long and silky that just begged for hands through it and wasn’t that an embarrassing thought? Jesus had tied his hair up in a bun one day and ruined the rest of Daryl’s. And then there was the memory of Jesus at Daryl’s back as they high-tailed it out of the Sanctuary, something he had not noticed at first and now, many weeks removed, haunted his dreams. Slim and small, yet undeniably strong, Daryl’s skin flushed each time he thought of the heat of the other man’s body through their layers of clothing. Daryl did not think of Jesus as a girl or wished that he was, he was very aware that this was another man and still he wanted him. It just made Daryl uncomfortable to think that he wanted to kiss him.

Daryl was not sure when it started, not really. There was no great revelation, no one moment he could point to, but one day he found himself thinking entirely too much about Jesus’ hands—always neatly manicured, as the rest of him was kept—and choked on his cigarette. Worst yet, Jesus noticed and asked, “Hey, is everything okay?”

There was no one else around them to distract them. He and Daryl had been holed up in this treehouse shack for the better part of the afternoon since escaping to it after running into a herd of walkers. Jesus had damn near given Daryl a heart attack by waiting until the last minute to get his skinny butt into the tree to punch a persistent dead one in the face one more time. It was stupid, not at all true to form, and when he pulled his gloves off after, his knuckles were uncharacteristically red. Jesus had joked that the bastard must have had a steel face plate or something in life, but all Daryl could think about was the strength in the slim fingers and then…

Daryl straightened in his crouch against the wall, stretching his legs out, coughed and said, “Nah, nothing.” A beat of silence, during which Jesus stared at him disbelieving and Daryl tried to ignore the piercing gaze, and then, “You could have gotten yourself killed for that last hit. You ain’t dumb, what the hell were you doing?”

Jesus wrinkled his nose and said, “Saving your butt. He was trying to take a chunk out of your shoulder. I can’t imagine how I would explain that to Rick or Carol without getting shot.”

Daryl scoffed and looked away. They could still hear the herd moving slowly below. The walkers had lost interest in the two quickly, given that they had human noses to track them by and both men were now out of the wind. Yet it would take hours for them to clear out and by then it would be too dark so they were stuck until morning. Daryl really hoped Jesus would remain as unusually quiet as he had been for the past two hours or there was going to be trouble tonight.

And then, “I know you’re older than me, but you’re not my Dad. I can take care of myself out there.”

Daryl could not help himself, he snarled, “So what, you were showing off? I already know you can do that ninja shit, no need to break your hand showing me. What if he’d got his teeth in your glove? How was I explaining that shit to Hilltop before someone shot _me_?”

Jesus laughed, actually snorted and then threw his head back into a full belly laugh that was maybe a little too loud and raised all the pores on Daryl’s neck and shoulders, before he replied, “Come on, I already told you we don’t have any guns. And I’m pretty sure you’re a way better shot than most of our people.”

Daryl grunted, willing himself not to snap at the other man. Then Jesus said, “Listen, I don’t want to get bit either but sometimes I have to get in close. If I didn’t think I could do it, I would have left you, I promise.” He tilted his head and leaned forward to catch Daryl’s gaze, “Does that make you feel better?”

Daryl kicked out at him, forcing Jesus back and said, “Don’t be an asshole.”

Jesus rolled his eyes, exhaled and said, “What do you want from me, Daryl Dixon? I know I did not give you and your friends a real good first impression, but I think we’ve been through enough now that you can trust me. I told you before that I’m on your side, that we all are on the same side. I don’t know what else I can do to get you to see that.”

It was exactly the last question that Daryl wanted to be asked, so he answered before he could stop himself, “I know you like to call yourself ‘Jesus’, but you ain’t him. You need to watch yourself sometimes. I can take care of myself too.”

Daryl knew he had made a serious error when the mischievous twinkle appeared in Jesus’ eye, a lascivious smirk formed on his lips and he said, “What if I like looking at your back? You have nice broad shoulders, Mr Dixon.”

Daryl ducked his head to hide his red face, though he was sure his skin was so hot it was smoking, and snarled, “Knock that shit off.”

Jesus laughed again and, much to Daryl’s horror, leaned forward again to catch his gaze and asked, “Is that a blush you’re trying to hide? Don’t think I haven’t noticed you looking at me too.” He extended a hand to walk his fingers along Daryl’s boot to his ankle and said, “Have I been wrong this whole time and you actually like me, Mr Dixon?”

Daryl looked up to snarl, “I said, stop that sh—”

He was cut off by Jesus’ burst of laughter. The little punk was messing with him. Daryl felt his blood grow hot and he lunged for the other man, grabbing for his collar. But Jesus blocked and grabbed his arm and, still laughing, pressed the other hand to Daryl’s chest and said, “Hey now, no need to get mad.”

Daryl tried to shake him off, but Jesus’ grip didn’t lessen and when he tried to headbutt him, the ninja leaned back and said, “Hey, whoa Daryl. Chill!”

“Let me go!” Daryl growled.

Jesus released him immediately and Daryl fell back unto the wall, hitting the back of his head. “Shit!” he grunted, and heard Jesus echo it as he quickly sat up again and grasped for the back of his head. But moments later, Jesus’ hands were in his hair, cool, slim fingers trying to massage the pain away even as Daryl flinched and tried to turn his head from the other man.

Then Jesus, ever persistent and patient, said, “Daryl.”

Daryl stopped struggling and looked up. Jesus was knelt above him with one leg between Daryl’s and their hands overlapping in his hair. They eyed each other for a little bit, and Jesus bent a little and asked, “I know I said I was teasing before, but if I kissed you now, would you let me?”

Daryl had a flash of Merle in his head telling him to punch this pretty boy in his stupid face. He heard their father yelling that if he ever found out his son was gay he was going to beat him until he stopped. Then he looked up into Jesus’ bright blue-green eyes, darkened slightly as his pupil’s dilated and nodded.

Jesus leaned down, hands still linked on Daryl’s head and pressed their mouths together. He kept it light, the barest trace of pressure, but Daryl stopped breathing. He couldn’t. It felt as if every nerve had short-circuited and his heart was running a hundred-metre sprint in his chest. Jesus pulled back slightly, waiting, and exhaled. Daryl inhaled and kissed him back. It was all the encouragement Jesus needed. He tilted his head to the side for better access and pressed firmer, then pulled back again. He did this a few more time before Daryl got the message, that Jesus wanted him to participate in this and he tried his best to comply.

It was, in the end, kind of awkward. Daryl had not kissed many people before, least of all the handful of hookers Merle had tried to set him up with and though he had the general idea, his technique was terrible. Jesus smiled when he realised it, then slid his hands around the back of Daryl’s neck and showed him how. And how.

When it was over both were breathing hard and staring at each other like they had never seen the other before. Daryl had completely forgotten about the pain in the back of his head and his aversion to Jesus’ passes and the fact that the other man was touching him. Then Jesus said, “Do you want to pretend now that that didn’t happen?”

Daryl grunted and shoved him. Jesus swayed but did not move back, instead he dropped his hands onto Daryl’s shoulders and said, “Good. Very good. So, if I wanted to do that again, I take it you would not be opposed to the idea?”

Daryl felt like an idiot shaking his head but he did it anyway. Jesus smiled but shifted back anyway to return to his place on the floor. Daryl tried to ignore the slight ache he felt at the loss of contact and warmth and said, “I…I’m not—”

Jesus’ warm, jovial mood vanished so fast, it was like flipping a switch. He folded his arms across his chest and said, “Are we really going to play this game?”

Daryl’s blood was still hot. He snapped, “You think I’m playing?”

Jesus, unsmiling, shook his head and replied, “No. And I’m not going to offer suggestions as to what you should do or think. You have to figure that one out yourself. I can see that you’re serious about your confusion, it’s written all over your face even if you let me kiss you. I’m not going to promise that I’m going to be there waiting for you, because this is not a romantic comedy, but once you figure it out I don’t think I would be opposed to anything you want to do.”

Daryl shook his head, then again and said, “Nah, don’t say that. I ain’t confused about what I feel. I just…I’ve never…I don’t know how to do this.”

Jesus’ brow furrowed and he asked, “With a guy?”

Daryl shook his head again, thought he was doing it too much and said, “In general…I’ve never had a—”

Jesus’ smile stopped him and he said, “You’re thinking too hard. Stop it. Let’s just take this one step at a time.” 

Daryl allowed himself one more headshake, to nod this time and said, “Okay. Alright. Yeah.”

Shame was starting to set in. Daryl just remembered that he was not supposed to like this guy or any guys for that matter and he was hoping that the floor was going to open and swallow him. Silence descended over the room. Gradually the sounds from outside began to filter in again. The herd was still moving below, stumbling through the undergrowth, moaning and groaning, snapping twigs and scattering all the game. The wind whistled through the leaves and open spaces in the boards of their treehouse. This was no child’s hideaway, but something clearly built after, filled with the detritus of its previous occupant. There were empty bottles of liquor, spare clothes, sneakers and cans of expired food. There was a lamp with a little fuel in it, but Daryl did not think that they should use it unless they could conceal all light. 

As he thought of it, he shifted to get a better look and then Jesus said, “Daryl.”

The other man had his legs folded now and, patting the space beside him, said, “Come here.”

Daryl glared at him. Jesus laughed and said, “Fine. I’ll come to you.”

And he did, just got up and walked across the floor to Daryl. Daryl stood up as he approached, and Jesus stepped right up to his face, lifted his head and said, “You’re thinking so hard I can hear the gears turning from over there. It’s not that complicated, you’ll see. But until you do, and since we have nothing else to do for the next few hours, I think I’m going to have to distract you.”

Daryl tried to protest but Jesus reached up, took his face into his hands and kissed him again. And what do you know, it worked.


End file.
